Ghost Stories: Bloody Mary

One of a gazillion versions of the Bloody Mary tale...

Hundreds of years ago, she lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal medicines for a living. The townspeople called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. No one dared cross her, though, for fear that their cows would go dry, their food would rot away before winter’s end, their children would get sick, or any number of other terrible things might happen if they angered a witch.

Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one after the other. Their distraught families searched the woods and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if she had taken the girls, but she denied knowing anything about the matter. It seemed to her visitors, however, that her normally old and haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger somehow. They were suspicious, but could find no proof that the witch had taken their children.

One night, the young daughter of the blacksmith got out of bed and walked outside to follow a song no one else could hear. The blacksmith's wife had a toothache and was sitting up in the kitchen that night when her daughter left the house. She yelled for her husband and followed the girl out the door. The blacksmith came running in his nightshirt. Her parents tried to restrain the girl, but she kept breaking away from them and heading towards the woods.

The commotion made by the blacksmith and his wife woke the neighbors, who came to assist the hysterical couple. Suddenly, one of the neighbors noticed a strange light at the edge of the woods. A few others followed him out into the field until they saw Bloody Mary standing near the trees, holding a magic wand that was pointed towards the blacksmith's house. As she conjured her spell upon the blacksmith’s daughter, she failed to notice anything else.

The townsmen grabbed their guns and pitchforks and ran toward the witch. When she finally saw them coming, Bloody Mary broke off her spell and fled back into the woods. One of the men had loaded his gun with silver bullets in case the witch ever came after his own daughter, and now he carefully took aim and shot. The bullet hit Bloody Mary in the back and she fell to the ground. The angry townsmen grabbed her and hauled her back into the field, where they built a huge bonfire and burned her at the stake.

As she burned, Bloody Mary screamed a curse: if anyone mentioned her name aloud before a mirror, she would send her spirit through the mirror to avenge her terrible death. When she was dead, the townspeople went to her cottage and found the unmarked graves of the little girls the wicked witch had murdered to make herself young again.

From that day on, anyone mad enough to chant Bloody Mary's name thirteen times before a darkened mirror will summon the spirit of the witch, who will exact her revenge by tearing their bodies to pieces. These unfortunate souls will then burn in torment as Bloody Mary too was burned.

Ghost Stories: Oiwa and Iemon

This is one version of a very famous Japanese ghost story.

Over 300 years ago in the Edo Period of Japan, there lived a master-less samurai named Iemon. He and his wife, Oiwa, lived in Tokyo. Oiwa was happily expecting a baby, and loved her husband very much. Oiwa didn’t care that Iemon was poor, but he was depressed about his lack of prospects anyway.

A rich young woman named Oume fell in love with Iemon despite his poverty and marital status, and one day her grandfather came to Iemon. He told Iemon what a shame it was that he was already married, because his granddaughter loved him very much. The grandfather went on to say all the ways that he would ensure his granddaughter’s future husband’s wealth and success. Iemon listened intently.

After some time thinking about the grandfather’s visit, Iemon decided to free himself of Oiwa and their unborn child so that he could marry Oume. The easiest way to do this was to poison Oiwa. Oiwa, ignorant of Iemon’s plans, happily prepared for the arrival of their baby.

One evening Oiwa and Iemon sat down to dinner, and Oiwa noticed her husband was strangely quiet and listless. She encouraged him to eat, but he would not touch his food. He encouraged Oiwa to stop fretting and to eat, herself. She needed to be strong for the baby, after all. Oiwa finally gave up trying to tempt Iemon’s appetite and started to eat. It wasn’t long before she felt very sick.

Iemon watched her coldly as the poison did its work, not offering her any help or comfort. But Oiwa did not die right away. Her beautiful face became disfigured from the poison first. Then she slipped into unconsciousness. Iemon was too much of a coward to finish the job he started, so he put Oiwa’s lifeless body in bed. Eventually Oiwa woke from her coma, remembering nothing of the poisoning. She had lost her baby, and her face was ugly and terrible, but Oiwa lived.

Iemon was desperate. He played the part of the concerned husband, but he was looking for any way possible to rid himself of his wife. One evening he took Oiwa for a long walk. They made their way to a cliff, and Iemon looked around to see if anyone was nearby. No one was in sight.

Iemon pushed Oiwa off the ledge. Her broken body was recovered and Iemon gave her the best funeral he could afford, spending all of his money in a great show of marital devotion. Of course, Iemon knew his money troubles were only temporary now that Oiwa was gone.

Thinking his worries were over, Iemon planned his wedding to Oume. The night before the marriage was to take place, Iemon noticed his lamp was dimming. He looked at it curiously, as it seemed to be changing. The disfigured face of Oiwa suddenly replaced the lamp, growing larger and larger in the room. “Betrayal!” it hissed.

Iemon grabbed his katana and swung at the face, but Oiwa disappeared and the lamp fell to the floor, cut from its cord. Iemon thought he heard the faint laughter of a woman from outside. Shaken, Iemon stamped out the lamp’s candle that was now burning the rug. He soon convinced himself that the vision was simply the result of too much sake earlier in the evening, and went to bed.

The next day, Iemon had forgotten all about the specter from the night before. He and Oume were wed. When he lifted her veil, however, her beautiful young face was replaced with Oiwa’s horrible visage. “Betrayal!” she hissed.

Iemon once again defended himself with his sword, cutting Oiwa’s head off. When it landed on the floor, however, it had Oume’s face and not Oiwa’s. He heard the faint sound of laughter again.

Iemon ran to his tiny house, looking for a place to hide. There was a pounding at the door, and Oume’s grandfather demanded that he open it. When Iemon did so, Oiwa was standing there. “Betrayal!” she hissed.

Once again, Iemon tried to decapitate her, but when his sword finished its work, it was Oume’s grandfather that lay dead.

Iemon ran for the cliffs, Oiwa’s laughter following him. He stopped at the edge and looked down, perhaps changing his mind.

It didn’t matter. Passersby reported seeing a woman push Iemon off the cliff before she jumped after him, laughing all the way down.

Ghost Stories: The Girl in White

Danny was sulking, standing along the wall and watching his friends dance with their pretty partners. His girlfriend, Anita, had stayed home that night to take care of her sick mother.

His friend, Nathan, came up to him between dances and said, "Anita is not the only girl in the world. There are many pretty girls here: dance with one of them."

Danny started looking around the room. His gaze fell upon a beautiful young girl standing at the edge of the dance floor. She was dressed in an old-fashioned white gown and her skin was as pale as the moon. Her dark eyes watched the dance wistfully from her position behind a tall fern, and Danny felt his heart beat faster. Such a lovely young woman should be dancing!

He made his way through the crowd and introduced himself to the girl in white. She looked startled by his attention, as if she had not expected anyone to notice her, but she readily agreed to dance with him. Danny happily led her out onto the floor to dance, all thoughts of Anita gone from his mind.

Nathan and some of his other friends gave him odd looks as he danced with the girl in white. When the dance was over, he left to get his beautiful partner a drink. Nathan found him at the refreshment table. Danny grinned and thanked Nathan for his advice. "I'm dancing with the most beautiful girl in the room!"

"You've had too much to drink, buddy," Nathan replied.

Danny glared at his friend, annoyed, and left. Making his way back to the girl in white, he handed her a glass and asked her to walk outside with him along the terrace. The night was beautiful, the sky twinkling with stars, and Danny stared at the girl with love in his eyes.

The girl in white turned to him with a sigh and said, "Thank you for the dance. It has been a very long time since I had such pleasure."

"Let us dance again, then," he said quickly. But she shook her head.

"I must leave now," she said, drifting toward the stairs at the end of the terrace.

"Please don't go," he pleaded, following her.

"I must," she said, turning to look at him. Her eyes softened when she saw the hurt look on his face. "Come with me?" she invited, holding out a pale hand.

Danny's heart pounded rapidly at the thought. More than anything in the world, he wanted to go with this lovely girl. And then he noticed that he could see the stone wall of the terrace through the girl's hand. Shocked, he looked into her face, and realized that she was fading away before his eyes.

At the look of horror on his face, the girl gave a sad laugh and dropped her hand, which was nearly transparent now.

"Goodbye," she said, her body becoming thin and misty. "Goodbye."

Then she was gone.

He stood silently in terror as he realized he had been dancing with a ghost. Then he ran all the way home.

When Nathan came the next day to check on him, Danny told his friend the whole story. Nathan whistled in amazement. "You saw the spirit of Genevieve," he said. "She lived on a plantation around here more than two hundred years ago. She died of consumption the night before her debutante ball and they say her spirit sometimes attends the local dances, hoping to have one of the dances that she missed."

Danny shuddered at the thought of his dance with the ghost. "I will not be visiting that dance hall again," he told Nathan. "From now on, all my dances will be with Anita!"

And he kept his word.

Ghost Stories: The Monkey's Paw

Over a hundred years ago, an old couple lived in the English countryside with their adult son. Henry White worked in a saw mill for the Meggins Lumber Company, helping to support his parents.

One cold and rainy night, an old friend came to visit. He was a retired Army sergeant who had spent years in India. The family rarely had visitors in their lonely little homestead, so to hear the sergeant's stories was quite a treat. They listened raptly while he told of his adventures in India.

During a lull in the narrative, Mr. White said, "What were you starting to tell me about a monkey's paw the other day?"

The sergeant looked flustered, "Oh, that. Nothing worth hearing."

After some pursuasion, however, the sergeant finally relented. "It's a trifle, really, but I have this monkey's paw." He pulled a mummified, dry monkey paw out of his shirt pocket. "A fakir put a spell on it so it will grant three wishes to three people."

The Whites looked incredulous. Henry jokingly asked, "So why don't you have your three, sir?"

The sergeant gravely responded, "I have."

Mrs. White whispered, "And did they come true?"

"They did. As did the wishes of the previous owner. His third wish was for death, which is how I came to be in possession of this thing." The sergeant stared blankly into the fire as he absent-mindedly rubbed the paw. Suddenly, he threw the paw into the flames.

"Hey now!" Mr. White shouted and jumped up, rescuing the paw from the fire. "If you've no more need of it, I'll certainly take possession of the thing."

"Best to let it burn, my friend."

Mr. White examined the monkey's paw in his hand, turning it around and around. "How does it work?" he asked.

"Just remember I threw it on the fire. Whatever happens, don't blame me, for I did not give it to you," the old sergeant said quietly. "But if you're determined to keep it and use it, hold it up in your right hand and wish aloud."

Mr. White immediately held it up, but before he could speak, his friend grabbed his arm in alarm. "For God's sake, if you're going to wish, wish for something sensible."

Mr. White put the paw in his own pocket and the thing was largely forgotten as the group sat down to dinner. After their guest left, the Whites cheerfully joked about becoming rich and famous with their wishes.

Henry didn't believe the talisman had any magic to it, but told his father that if he wanted to wish for something, he should wish for enough money to clear his debts. "With five hundred pounds, you could pay off this house, father, along with the rest of your bills. Wish for that." Henry left the room to tend to his evening chores.

Mr. White looked at his wife, and she smiled. He held up the monkey's paw in his right hand and said, "I wish for five hundred pounds."

Mr. White felt the monkey's paw move in his hand, and dropped it with a yell. Henry came running back to check on the commotion. "I'm sure it's in your head, father, but why don't you go up to bed. The money is probably tied up in a bag under your pillow!"

After Henry finished his chores in the barn, the three of them sat quietly around the fire, listening to the wind and rain. Finally, with a sense of disappointment, the elder Whites went to bed. Henry stayed up, staring into the fire. He thought he saw faces in the dying flames, and when he saw the clear outline of a monkey's face, he felt a chill go down his spine. He reached for a glass of water on the table next to him, hoping to douse the flames. Instead, he accidentally touched the monkey's paw. He wiped his hand off with disgust and went to bed himself.

In the light of day the next morning, Henry forgot about his anxieties regarding the monkey's paw, and continued making jokes about it. He cheerfully left for work, whistling as he walked down the country lane towards town.

Mr. and Mrs. White spent the day quietly reading and talking, much as any other day. Around noon, Mrs. White noticed a strange man walking toward the house. He stood outside their gate for some time, seeming undecided about whether or not he should enter. Finally he did and walked up to the door.

"I was sent from the Meggins Lumber Company," he began.

Mrs. White looked alarmed, "Oh! Is something wrong with Henry?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid he was caught in the machinery, ma'am."

Henry was dead. Mrs. White nearly lost her senses, such was her grief.

Mr. White finally spoke quietly, "He was all we had left in this world. It's very hard."

The stranger nodded sympathetically, then said, "The company wished for me to convey their deepest condolences. And...I was told to say...they disavow any responsibility for the accident. However, to aid you in this time of suffering, they want to give you a monetary gift."

Mrs. White went quiet.

Mr. White looked pale. "How much?"

"Five hundred pounds."

Mrs. White screamed.

Mr. White fell to the floor.

Henry was buried in the cemetery, and his parents slowly walked back to their lonely old home. They spent their days in listless mourning, unable to cope with their grief.

One night, the old man wakened to the sounds of sobbing. His wife was sitting by the window. He spoke quietly, "Come back to bed. It's too cold to be sitting up."

"It's colder for my son," she responded. Then, suddenly, she jumped up from her seat. "The monkey's paw!"

The old man was alarmed, "What?"

"Why didn't I think of it sooner? Why didn't you think of it? Wish our son back!"

"He's been in the ground for two weeks. I couldn't even identify him other than his clothes. Imagine how he'd look!"

"I don't care! Wish him back to me!"

Finally, the old man gave in and held the monkey's paw up in his right hand. "I wish my son was alive."

The couple waited, and nothing. Nothing happened. Mrs. White looked expectantly out the window towards the gate, but nothing was there. Finally they went back to bed, but a knock at the door sounded just as they were falling asleep.

Mrs. White leapt from the bed. "My son!"

Mr. White was terrified. He only imagined the mangled body of their son, buried for two weeks, digging its way out of its grave and walking the two miles to their house. And now it was knocking at their door.

Mrs. White was already downstairs, pulling the heavy bolts open on the door. Mr. White frantically grabbed for the monkey's paw to make his third and final wish.

He heard his wife open the door, followed by her disappointed cries.

No one was there.

Ghost Story: Drip Drop

This story was told and retold around the campfire last week by the 10-and-under crowd:

A teenage girl was left home alone for the weekend by her parents. She was very responsible and didn't have any friends over. She just made herself dinner and went upstairs to her room to read before bedtime. She read for a little while with her dog lying on the floor beside the bed, then she turned out the light and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, the girl woke up because of a strange noise. She listened to the still darkness all around her, unable to figure out what had disturbed her. Then she faintly heard something from the bathroom...drip...drop...drip...drop.

"There must be a leak," she thought to herself. She felt a little nervous in the house all alone. It was so dark and quiet. She put her hand down to feel for her dog. He licked her hand, and feeling safe, she fell back asleep.

In the morning, the girl got up and went into the bathroom. There, her dog was hanging from the shower rod with his throat slit. His blood was slowly dripping onto the tile floor...drip...drop...drip...drop. Written on the mirror in blood was the message: "Aren't you glad you didn't look under the bed?"

If you have a ghost/scary story you'd like to contribute, please e-mail it to jenlarson@gmail.com.

Ghost Stories: The Hook

One of the first ghost stories I ever heard was told to me by an older cousin. She was watching over some of us younger kids as we spent the night in a tent. We begged her to tell us a ghost story, and she told us one that I have remembered ever since. It is a well-known American folktale, and here is one version for those who are brave enough to read on...best told in the dark with a flashlight or campfire...

A teenage girl was listening to the radio as she got ready for her date with her boyfriend. A report came on warning listeners that an insane killer had escaped the nearby asylum. The man could be recognized by the hook that was in place of his hand. The girl didn't pay much attention--she was focused on the fun she was going to have that evening.

The girl's boyfriend came to pick her up and they went with another couple to a dance. They had a great time, and when they left they dropped the other couple off before parking in a secluded spot to kiss.

The radio was on in the car, and another report came over to warn people that the man with the hook was still at large. The girl was suddenly aware of how lonely the road was--there was no one else around. She shivered and asked her boyfriend to take her home, "That hook man sounds dangerous, and we're all alone out here."

Her boyfriend tried to get in another kiss, "Come on, it's nothing to worry about."

The couple argued, but they were interrupted when the car shook. It felt as if something...or someone...had touched it. The girl screamed, "Get us out of here now!"

The boyfriend rolled his eyes but tore out of his parking spot with a screech of the tires. The couple drove home in angry silence, and when they got to the girl's house, she kicked the car door open and went to slam it.

Instead of closing the door, the girl let out a horrible shriek. There, hanging from the door handle, was a bloody hook.

(This is the first in what will be a series of ghost stories. If you'd like to contribute one, please e-mail it to: jenlarson@gmail.com.)